


A Full Glass

by misura



Category: Le Pacte des Loups | Brotherhood of the Wolf (2001)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 19:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1699172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"A pity," she said. "After all, if you are not with me, then I can only conclude you are against me. In which case - more wine?"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Full Glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ozsaur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozsaur/gifts).



> prompt: _Fronsac & Sylvia, meet again_

She was still beautiful - and deadly, naturally, like an exotic and extremely venomous snake, except not entirely. Serpents, after all, represented wisdom, and while Fronsac had no doubt of the lady's survival skills (to say nothing of her skills in a number of other areas, several of whom could not be mentioned by their proper name in polite company), he liked to believe he had made the wiser choices in life.

That those choices had left him positionless and stranded in a city that was becoming increasingly unkind to strangers was neither here nor there.

"So tell me," she said, "what is a Royal Taxidermist doing in Morocco?"

" _Former_ Royal Taxidermist," he said. "If you please. Surely you've heard that much, even in whatever dark corner of the world you've been hiding out in."

She smiled at him. "Hiding? Me?"

"Of course not. What _was_ I thinking?"

"The question, _Monsieur_ Fronsac. If you please."

"What if it does not?" he asked.

"Then, I would deeply regret the misfortune that is about to befall you."

He was armed - well-armed, even. Three knives, two pistols, and all the training Mani had crammed into him over the course of their far too short acquaintance.

"Are you threatening me?"

She wore no weapons that he could see, which meant little, of course. A snake would not show you its teeth, but even so, its bite would kill you.

"What," she said, "is a _former_ Royal Taxidermist doing in Morocco?"

"Nothing," he said, which was true. More or less. "Nothing that could possibly be of interest to you, anyway. I eat. I sleep - alone, on most nights, though not all. I stroll through the city."

"You make yourself sound so harmless."

"Sometimes, there is truth in appearances." He spread his hands. "I am as you see me."

"Available?" she asked, which was somewhat unexpected, not to mention unwelcome.

"I'm a very busy man," he said.

"Busy," she repeated. "Eating and sleeping and strolling."

"You know my schedule very well." By this time tomorrow, if not earlier, she would probably also know the where and the with whom, inasfar as there were other people involved in his life.

It was only to be hoped, then, that she would not know the name and location of the horse trader of whom he would be buying a very fast horse that would carry him as far away as possible over the course of the coming night.

(Not entirely a vain hope, he liked to think, given that he had as of yet no idea where to find such a fellow himself. There were horse traders aplenty, naturally - swindlers, one and all, and quite hostile to strangers besides, although he feared a wider purse than his might considerably soften their attitude.)

"I could pay you," she said.

"You don't usually pay your hirelings?" Simply killing them would be more economic, he supposed.

"I thought I might let you live. Again."

"Generous."

"Very," she agreed.

"I have no interest in working for you."

"A pity," she said. "After all, if you are not with me, then I can only conclude you are against me. In which case - more wine?"

There were quite a number of replies he could have made to that, he thought. She had poisoned him once already, after all, even if the effect had not been permanent.

It bothered him, some nights, that he did not remember the experience more clearly. The dying he recalled clearly enough - the agony, the fading away of all the strength that had remained in his body after being half-starved. The painful first breath he had drawn, his mouth tasting as foul as if something had died in it.

He felt there should have been more, somehow. Saint Peter at the gate. A glimpse, however briefly, of the great beyond.

Mani.

"We are still not married, may I remind you?"

She inclined her head. "How could I forget?"

"I have trouble in that department myself on occasion," he said. "Or I don't, actually. Let me be blunt. I have no taste for politics, nor for intrigue. I am not a man for the wars fought with cloaks and daggers. You seem to believe I may be of use to you - well, permit me to inform you that you are wrong."

"Very well. I will permit you to do so." She seemed faintly amused as she filled his glass.

He considered churlishly spilling its contents on her dress. Drinking it would be folly, surely.

Then again, it did please him to think of himself as a gentleman.

"I pose no threat to you, nor to your master's plans," he said. "Whoever and whatever they may be."

"Not a very compelling argument to keep you alive, I'm afraid," she said, sipping her wine.

Perhaps he should attempt to distract her and then switch his glass for hers. Rather tricky to pull off, given that hers was of a distinctly different design from his.

"If you intend to kill everyone in this city who can do you no harm, your plan appears to call for nothing short of mass murder. I cannot say I approve."

"Better," she said. "I do like you when you are attempting to amuse."

"Well, I do aim to please."

"You underestimate yourself, I think."

"Perhaps." He stared at his wine. "Or perhaps you are overestimating me."

"I have seen what you can do, if properly motivated."

"Oh," he said. "You were proposing to kill someone who has saved my life and is as close to me as a brother?"

"Hardly," she said. "That would only turn you against our interests, after all. And besides, you are alone."

He did not find her desirable, he realized. Beautiful, yes. Arousing, no. "Is that a proposition?"

"You could use a friend, _monsieur_. Or, more than one. Not ... employment, as such. Call it an offer. One that will not be repeated, I think. You are not as useful as all that, after all."

She had once suggested she might take him to Rome and introduce him to the Pope, he recalled.

"I regret to say I am really not even remotely interested."

She inclined her head. "I regret to hear it."

"Can I go now, or should I worry about you depositing something sharp and pointy between my shoulder blades?"

"I usually aim a bit lower," she said, which was as close to a 'yes' as he was going to get, he imagined.

"Then, goodbye, _madame_. I sincerely hope we shall not meet again."

"You do have an unfortunate habit of mixing yourself up in trouble, _monsieur_."

Safe enough to keep walking, he judged. "I shall endeavor to work on that."

"There is a reasonably honest horse trader on the Half Moon Street, next to a fruit seller."

He very nearly stopped walking at that, but then he reminded himself that he had not, after all, spilled any wine on her dress. "A useful bit of information for someone wanting to buy a horse, I'm sure."

She made no reply to that as far as he could hear; likely as not, she was already gone.

(He judged it safest not to look back and find out for certain. Besides, he had a fast horse to steal.)


End file.
